Breaking the Camel's Back
by bunniculasama
Summary: "...Now Haruhi, when dancing the tango, as in any dance, one must communicate through the body. The waltz is romantic. The tango is all about unfulfilled desire." Kyoya/Haruhi
1. Chapter 1

Breaking the Camel's Back

(OHHC is not mine.)

They were drawing straws. Of all the ridiculous, inane, childish things, they were drawing freaking straws.

"Honey-senpai," trilled _trilled_ Tamaki-senpai's voice, "hold these for me, will you? I want to make sure that these dopplegangers have no opportunity for their tricks." Honey-sempai, for his part, looked only too happy to help, flouncing across the room with youthful abandon, "Hai, Tamaki-san!"

Haruhi mentally chastised herself for not seeing this coming. Of course it had to become a _thing. _She couldn't just drop a confession like the one she had without repercussions, particularly not with these guys. At least they'd gotten past the idea of rock, paper, scissors. The twins and Tamaki- senpai competing with closed fist and open palms seemed extremely dangerous.

"Boss, it's not fair if you get to do it," Hikaru interjected. "Yeah," chimed his twin, "you got to do it last time." Both sets of golden eyes swung to her in perfect synch, "And we have just the perfect thing for her to wear."

There was no repressing the shiver that stabbed between her shoulder blades. The glint in the Hitachiin brother's eyes was a thing she'd learned not to underestimate.

Tamaki waived away their protest. "No,no, it's impossible. As my darling Haruhi's devoted father, I could never leave her education in your shady hands. It would be irresponsible."

Oh for the love of, Haruhi tried in vain to head off the banter, "Guys, it's really not that big of a deal…"

Tamaki's finger was on her lips before she could even finish her thought, "Hush, dear Haruhi, there is no need to be embarrassed over the gaps in your education. A commoner just can't be expected to know these things, and I, as your dearest daddy, am more than willing to help."

Haruhi took a half step back, partly to separate herself from Tamaki-senpai, but mostly in defeat. "Why does this even matter?"

It was Kyoya who spoke up from the depths of his notebook. "Tamaki-san has decided upon a Latin theme for this year's ball. So instead of waltzing this year, you must tango."

And the simple admission that she had no idea how to tango had triggered another seemingly endless argument over who would teach her. But in the midst of disaster, brilliance struck. "Can't Hani-senpai teach em? Surely he knows how to tango."

"I don't know how to tango, Haru-chan, I'm not tall enough." Honey frowned, "I don't think Mori knows how either."

The silent man's head shifted a subtle assent to Honey-senpai.

"Then why do I have to know?" Haruhi demanded

"Frankly, Haruhi, no one expects the boy Lolita to tango." Came Kyoya's calm and insanely, frustratingly, logical response. "And it would ill-suit Mori-sempai, the wild type if he were tangoing on the dance floor. Our clients' expectations must be upheld."

"Mother could do it." The words sounded oddly thoughtful in the silence that fell at the suggestion. A burst of confidence shot through the second year as his idea rooted, "After all, to whom does a little girl turn when she is in need and Daddy can't help?"

Somehow Haruhi found the reigning silence at the president's suggestion slightly stifling. It couldn't be that bad, Haruhi thought. After all, Kyoya-senpai wouldn't insist upon a ridiculous outfit like Hikaru and Kaoru would. And the lesson would be drama free without Tamaki-senpai's involvement. All in all, it was nearly as safe to dance with the vice president as it was to dance with Honey-senpai, right?

Memory flashed briefly in her mind, moonlight on a shirtless chest, and was ruthlessly quashed. There was nothing for Kyoya to gain in the encounter, she reminded herself, except teaching a host needed steps. Her hesitation was minimal when she nodded her acceptance. "Kyoya-senpai? …Would you mind?"

His eyes were unreadable, and his eyebrow arched at the question. Surely the request hadn't thrown the shadow king, had it? He was unflappable.

With deliberate care, Kyoya-senpai closed his notebook and rose from the desk. A long slim finger adjusted the sliver glasses on his nose as he crossed to her. Somehow, at least to Haruhi, he suddenly seemed dangerous and a frission of awareness raced through her.

An enthusiastic clap from the Suou heir broke the spell. "Excellent. Now Haruhi, when dancing the tango, as in any dance, one must communicate through the body. The waltz is romantic. The tango is all about unfulfilled desire." He helped himself to her hands, placing them both on Kyoya-senpai's chest. Haruhi resisted the urge to leap back from the upperclassman as once more, memories from that night at the beach assaulted her. It didn't help when the Ootori heir (or at least, potential heir) mirrored her position with his own hands.

"The tango is a complicated dance, Haruhi, and we don't expect you to master it in the short time we have until the ball. But Daddy is sure that his little girl can learn the basics." Apparently Tamaki-senpai was determined to remain involved in the lesson, and he seemed to glory in his instructive role. "Eye contact is important. A proper host cannot cast his eyes around the ballroom while dancing with a beautiful princess. For this first lesson, I think it's enough if you simply practice walking with Mother. Eyes on, and start with the right foot!" With a flourish worthy of any circus performer, Tamaki turned started the music and stepped away.

She couldn't really understand her reluctance to meet Kyoya's eyes. Frustrated with herself over her own nonsense, she forced her eyes to his. Ever unreadable, they still pinned hers in place. Trying to ignore the warmth seeping into her chest from his hands, she gamely stepped backwards. It would be best, she figured, to get the lesson over quickly and move on. He followed right behind her, timing his step to maintain the distance between them. One more step back brought him with, his grace and apparent ease with the dance making his movements fluid, and somehow inevitable.

The intimacy in this dance was alien and dizzying, as was her dependence on him. He led them around the room and she was left to trust, to… submit to him. Each step grew more disconcerting as she was walked backwards through the music room. A tempered anxiety built within her; a restlessness that tingled beneath the skin and itched her fingertips. Her hand fidgeted on his chest slightly, drawing a half smirk from the cool upperclassman.

Embarrassment burned through her. Rich bastard! He was laughing at her! She steeled herself anew, determined to get through the lesson and back on solid ground. Her eyes flashed with determination.

Gentle tension pressed her shoulder, Kyoya turned her gently, guiding her back from whence they came. Without being able to see the other hosts, the spell of intimacy was returning. Maybe it was the light from the afternoon sun, or more likely, her own imagination, but there seemed to be a glint in the older boy's eyes, a strange light that held her gaze. It seemed sudden when he halted at their starting point and executed a neat bow.

"Excellent job, Haruhi, very nicely done." Tamaki-senpai crowed. "Daddy's very proud."

She accepted his praise with a nod. She felt like she was just waking up from a nap, disoriented. "Thank you, Tamaki-senpai." Turning to her dance partner, she nodded again, "And thank you, Kyoya-senpai."

She chose to ignore the humor in her senpai's eyes. Spine straight and eyes averted, she took a seat on the couch and promptly engrossed herself in whatever textbook had been at the top of her bag. It was easier to just ignore.

* * *

If she seemed a little out of it the next day, no one said anything. Any chance she had at forty winks was banished at the memory of too warm hands on her person. For what had to have been the hundredth time, she rubbed her chest, trying to scrub herself of the memory. She was grateful that unlike yesterday, this afternoon was business as usual at the host club. No dance lessons.

She really didn't want to think about the madness of yesterday. She actively chose to ignore any aftershocks today. There was no profit in examining anything. Hormones. It was all hormones, and Fujioka Haruhi was not going to be their victim. After all, she'd seen him without a shirt on, looming over her like he was going to… she shook her head fiercely to reign in that thought. Anyway, the next day she'd had no problems. This was obviously just the side effects from hormones.

The day passed in its usual blur of school work and assignments. Certainly, she felt the effects of her missed shut eye, but she had yet to find herself drifting off in class, and she certainly wasn't doodling foolish little hearts on her notes. Obviously, whatever had happened the previous afternoon was nothing to get concerned about.

It was an ordinary day at the club, no cosplay, no dance lesson, no trouble. She smiled in relief. "Haruhi! You're late! Daddy's disappointed."

She shuffled her bag back on her shoulder, "Sorry, Senpai. I'll put away my stuff and be right out."

But Tamaki just waved her off, "Kyoya is waiting for you back there. Your appointments have been canceled for the day so you can get the tango down." Her eyes flew to the corner, newly partitioned off.

Maybe her pulse went a little faster, but she quickly subscribed that to surprise. She simply had not see this coming. Surprise was normal.

Naturally, Kyoya-senpai was punctual. Naturally, he was composed.

She could be the same. Settling her bag on a conveniently placed couch, she turned to face her partner. "Good afternoon, Senpai." Perfectly in control.

"Good afternoon, Haruhi. Shall we continue the lesson?"

She stepped closer, placing her hands back in their positions from the day before. She was smooth. She was in control… she was getting laughed at again.

"Yesterday's lessons were supposed to be for your feet. While I appreciate your… enthusiasm, I must insist that we take this a step further." She ignored the burning of her ears, a sure sign that her embarrassment was visible. For his part, Kyoya also ignored her blushes, and wrapped his right arm around her, splaying his fingers gently against her back. She was drawn to him slowly till her hip brushed his thigh. His left hand grabbed her arm above the elbow. Her eyes were locked on to his as his fingers gently slid to her wrist. "Your hand," he murmured, raising the appendage, "rests on my shoulder." He settled it in place, brushing her hand smooth with his own. Now otherwise unoccupied, his hand trailed to her hip, framing its crest. "Your left hand should be in the middle of my back."

Without breaking eye contact, and with only a hint of a tremor, she placed her hand. She could feel the warmth of him through the fine linen of his shirt. Her right hand, wrapped around his upper arm, could feel his strength. Haruhi had never stopped to consider the height of her senpai, but now, in this position, she felt as though she were draped on him.

The glint was back. And there most certainly was a glint. Somehow, it made her feel bold, "What do we do now, Kyoya-sempai?"

His hand, the hand resting so low on her back, twitched slightly. "We use our hands to communicate." Perhaps it was the blood pounding in her ears, but his voice sounded oddly thick. "For a turn, I will press here," he applied a gentle pressure to her back. "Do you understand?" She could only nod.

Slowly his leg slid forward, and like the day before, they walked together. This time, the trust, the submission, came easier. Beneath her hands, his muscles moved, telegraphing each step. Her body seemed to react of its own accord. Slowly they slid across their limited dance space, turning about in wide turns. When he changed his footwork, stepping to the left, she followed naturally. Soon, the chatter from the host club faded and her world became small and finite, completely centered on the man in her arms. He had a small freckle, one that she'd never noticed, beneath his eye like a tear.

There was no marking of time. There was no thought. There was only the movement. The hand on her hip tightened gently and she whirled as he turned sharply. The hand on her back pressed her close as they changed direction once more.

"Wow, Haru-chan, you really are a natural!" The bright voice broke the spell, thrusting the dancers apart to face their newly acquired audience.

"Th-thank you, Honey-senpai." Her voice felt strangled. "Kyoya-senpai is a good teacher."

Kyoya bowed. This time, there was no humor in his eyes, but something else, exciting and intangible. With efficient gestures, he donned his uniform jacket and straightened his lenses. The transformation was sudden and complete. "Did everything go well?"

"Mother, you fret too much," was the theatrical response. "Every princess was well tended."

"Hm." The vice president, for that's what he'd once again become collected his notebook from a nearby table. "Then it is time to go. Good night."

He left without so much as a backwards glance, and Haruhi tried not to feel the chill his departure had left. Later that night, as the memories of their dance played in her mind, she tried not to burn.

* * *

To her great relief, she had been able to sleep. But her dreams had been dark and roiling, impressions rather than images, feelings rather than faces. That tempered anxiety from the first lesson, that _anticipation_ crawled along her nerves, leaving her once more, unsettled.

If she seemed a little short tempered the next day, no one said anything. Her hands still felt warm from the day before, her fingers still remembered the feel of linen wrapped muscle. Her mind kept conjuring up memories from the previous day: Kyoya's secret freckle, the slow pressure of his hand on her hip, and the way his scent had hung on her clothes, even after she'd gotten home. She knew that there would be more lessons in the music room, and she tried desperately to slow her pulse.

She couldn't think about the day before. The school day was passing by in a blur, and she struggled to stay with it. I'm being an idiot, she fumed. There's no way I'm going to let myself get sidetracked because of… because of stupid hormones. That's all this was. She still felt no compulsion to litter her notes with hearts, and she certainly wasn't heaving great heart-felt sighs. She would get through this, the lessons would end, and she would be back on solid ground.

She found herself at the host club's doors early. Certainly she had intended on cramming in some time with her books in the library. She had intended on making up for her difficulty focusing. She had intended… she had intended on having enough pride to not coming running back. This was Kyoya-senpai, shadow king ruler of the host club, the man who manipulated adoring girls into spending money on things like her pencil to pad the coffers of the obviously wealthy club. She was behaving no differently than the silly, bored little rich girls who had nothing better to do each afternoon than pine, giggle, and sigh over fantasies and playacting. She was supposed to be better than this.

Her fist clenched in anger. If she kept going like this, she was only going to make a fool of herself – the last thing she needed. She was already an oddity in the club, the commoner, the toy, the daughter. The last thing she needed was to turn into the idiot as well.

She pushed the waiting doors open. It was like stepping into a magnificent abandoned castle. She was, for the moment, alone. A benefit of being early, I suppose, she mused. She ignored the partition that loomed at her from the corner. She heard subdued voices from the changing rooms and surmised that her friends were already here.

Occasionally she would amuse herself with trying to guess the other host's costumes. Obviously Tamaki-senpai would be a prince. Honey-senpai would be adorable dressed as a little jester, though that costume would be equally good on the Hitachiin brothers. It was easy to assume that Mori-senpai would be a knight, perhaps a bandit, but personally, Haruhi thought knighthood suited him better. The trouble was, this time the game wasn't amusing.

Nor was it making it easy to ignore the partition. She most certainly did not heave a heart-felt sigh when she turned to face the inevitable. She'd wanted to, though.

Kyoya-senpai was already here. He'd shed his jacket and notebook, both neatly placed on the couch. If he'd heard her arrival, he gave no sign. He seemed to be lost in thought. "Kyoya-sempai?"

She watched, rooted to the spot as he crossed to her. She offered no resistance when he took her books. Distantly, she remembered her promises to herself about remaining level headed, but with his dark eyes locked on hers, those promises fell away. His hands went to her hips, dragging her passed the few steps that remained between them. Softly, but insistently, those hands traced the gentle curves to her arms, then slid over her shoulders, taking her coat. Still frozen, she watched him prowl around her till her neck would twist no farther. His hands wrapped around her arms, his long fingers forming complete bands above her elbows.

She gasped when he pulled her to him, "Tamaki said that the tango was unfulfilled desire." The words were no more than whispers dropped into her ears, his breath traces a warm path down her neck. His foot pushed hers out, spreading her leg straight out to her side. "He was right." Her left knee buckled at the knee in a wild attempt to accommodate her new position. His leg was right there, molding itself to hers, allowing her to regain her equilibrium. "The body communicates the need in angles, in tension" He brought her arms in wrapping them to her trembling from with his own arms, "and in contact."

Once more, he secured her wrist and sent her spinning out. His catch was solid and abrupt. "Mind your feet, Haruhi." The smirk was back, his eyes burned. Her body responded reflexively to the position of his hands, and she assumed her form from the previous day. The slow pace from the previous lesson was abandoned. Today, he demanded her surrender. She felt like she'd been swept up in a whirling storm; she was buffeted by the winds. His scent, warm, spicy, and defiantly male was intoxicating.

It would be easy to lose yourself in this, Haruhi. It would be so easy to become the fool. Anger crackled dangerously in the volatile atmosphere. Her hand slid to his chest, her right heel planted, she brought him to a halt. His eyes glowed, and she could hear the ragged edge to his breath. Gamely, she took a step forward. Their legs moved in tandem, and now she was asking for his submission. Never allowing her eyes to waiver from his for a moment she forced him back step by shadowed step. She could feel the hand on her back clutching at her shirt, she sensed more than saw his surprise.

She drove him back until he was pressed to the wall, her hand slid down his chest, feeling the rise and fall of each breath – they matched her own.

Something in his eyes shifted, broke, like a log in a fire. He captured her mouth with his own, his tongue seeking entry, his hands clutching her to him like a lifeline. His kiss was wild and consuming and she leapt at the challenge of answering it. Her fingers tangled themselves in the impossible silk that was his hair while he lifted her from the ground, fitting her to him. He carried her to the couch, sweeping their possessions to the floor in a careless crash.

Reality came swamping in. The host club and a large portion of the female student body were on the other side of a thin divider. The crash may have attracted attention, and they did not need to be found like this. Sensing her tension, Kyoya pulled back. The regret in his eyes was expected, she was sure there was plenty in her own, but the sharp shard of… something was not.

She sat up on her knees abruptly and combed her fingers quickly through his hair, righting the damage she'd done to his normally flawless hair then sat down properly on the couch. There was no way that Tamaki-senpai would not come and investigate.

She barely managed to position herself when not only the prince, but all members of the club came rushing in.

"Haruhi! Are you alright?" She wanted to wince at the concern in Tamaki's voice. She disliked herself for the lie she was about to spin.

"I'm fine, Tamaki-senpai," she said, grateful that her voice sounded normal, "I tripped and crashed us into the couch, that's all." She didn't dare look at Kyoya. She didn't want to know what she'd see.

"Are you hurt? Let Daddy take a look." He grabbed at her hands attempting to examine her for bruises.

She pulled away in frustration, "I'm not hurt, Senpai, I promise."

Tamaki's face twisted into a pout, "But how is Daddy supposed to kiss and make it better when his little girl won't tell him where she hurts?"

"Uh, boss, I think you took the 'daddy' thing too far." Hikaru said.

"Yeah, that was weird, even for you," added Kaoru.

Tamaki had at least the grace to blush. "Well, if you're sure you're fine, we were going to leave…"

"I'm fine, Senpai, I'm just embarrassed."

"Well alright then, if you insist. Have a good night."

Neither Kyoya nor Haruhi stirred from the couch until all voices faded and the doors clicked shut. Haruhi felt awkward at their sudden isolation. Fingers encircled her wrist, lips pressed on her thudding pulse point, "Uh, Kyoya-senpai?"

"Kyoya" The correction was almost an afterthought, tossed out between soft kisses.

"Kyoya, I, uh" she swallowed nervously as his dark eyes once more held hers captive.

"Yes, Haruhi?" His eyes flashed playfully.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she asked, hating herself for stuttering under his ministrations.

The smirk was back, "I'd think that was obvious, Haruhi."

By now he'd moved to her neck, placing butterfly soft kisses on the delicate flesh he'd found. All she could manage was a strikingly intelligent, "Huh?"

"My job, Haruhi. Don't you remember? 'After all, to whom does a little girl turn when she is in need and Daddy can't help?'"

* * *

Alright. It's been about half a decade or so since I've even attempted to write a fanfic, but this one just jumped out at me and wouldn't let me go. Thank you so much for your patience with me, since I'm rusty as hell.


	2. Chapter 2

Breaking the Camel's Back

_Ok, so confession time. I kinda wrote this story twice over, once from Haruhi's perspective, and once from Kyoya's. I don't really intend on making this a full length fic, but I can post the other point of view. I liked Haruhi's perspective better because I think Kyoya is more fun when he's mysterious, but then again, it's fun to look behind the glasses too._

_**Sometimes it's the soft touch that wreaks the greatest damage. **_

* * *

There were a lot of precautions Kyoya Ootori had taken in this life. Some were obvious, like minding the ebb and tide of gossip through the school's halls, or networking future business contacts between class periods. Some were less obvious. Today he employed his favorite: the paperwork of the host club.

It really doesn't take a lot of paperwork to run a host club, he mused to himself. His spreadsheets formatted themselves, rendering any report he wished with the touch of a button. He was an Ootori, after all, and Ootori's have no time for waste. No one questioned the hours spent over notes and spreadsheets, they just accepted, which suited Kyoya fine. Very quickly, his computer had become his shield, his – distance from the rest of the club.

And sometimes, like today, that distance was damned necessary. The guests had all departed for the day, but the manic energy of his friends had yet to dissipate. Tamaki had valiantly tried to rally his 'family's' attention to plan the forthcoming ball. It had been going well, or at least as well as can be expected; Tamaki couldn't do anything without theatrics. They'd pulled through the bickering and snark all the way to the theme of the ball, but with one small confession, one little girl threw it all to the wind.

"Uh, Senpai, did you say tango? I have no idea how to tango."

The uproar was so predictable, it bordered on ridiculous. At the best of times, the perpetual one-upmanship between the twins and Tamaki was taxing. Today it was very close to shattering his calm. Daddy's girl, our toy, hold this, wear that, not fair, shady, back and forth, dragging the poor girl in question back and forth like a disputed doll.

Those idiots didn't even see her for what she was until it was waved in front of their faces, though it certainly seemed as though she'd tried to hide. Her short, scruffy hair had only accentuated her fine cheekbones; her glasses only made her russet eyes wider. She was buried in her clothes, a disguise that was sure to work for most, but to his eyes, she'd only been rendered more fey like; the coarse weave of her sweater brought out the fineness of her skin, the baggy hang spoke volumes about her delicate, waifish build.

Ruthlessly, he pushed that unhelpful line of thought out of the way. For what had to be the thousandth time, he told himself that he'd only been surprised by her appearance in the room that day. Ruminations on her lead to questions of attraction – and that path was just forbidden.

He focused instead on his faux work, or tried to… something inside twitched at the sight of Tamaki's fingers on gentle coral lips. He nearly missed her question: "Why does this even matter?"

He could recognize a Kyoya question when he heard one, after all, that was his job, wasn't it? He was the one who threatened, reasoned, or cajoled wayward club members back to Tamaki's crazy plans. "Tamaki-san has decided upon a Latin theme for this year's ball. So instead of waltzing this year, you must tango." He nearly held his breath, anticipating her further dissent. It would be expected of him, the threat of raising her debt. He didn't want to go there; he didn't want to push that button one more time. He was ogre enough to her.

To his surprise, she seemed to capitulate. Whatever pretense he'd been typing away at was forgotten as his attention was inexorably drawn to her. "Can't Hani-senpai teach me?" It was the closest thing to pleading he'd ever heard from her. He forced his hand to stay idle instead of rubbing at the slight tension in his chest. "Surely he knows how to tango."

The blonde teen seemed chagrined, "I don't know how to tango, Haru-chan, I'm not tall enough." Nor would any of their guest want to see the host doing something so… adult, Kyoya added mentally. The addition of, "I don't think Mori knows how either," was no great surprise either.

Naturally, he agreed with Honey.

"Then why do I have to know?" That something in his chest seemed to loosen at the return of her irritation, and once more, he found himself speaking, "Frankly, Haruhi, no one expects the boy Lolita to tango. And it would ill-suit Mori-sempai, the wild type if he were tangoing on the dance floor. Our clients' expectations must be upheld."

Equilibrium reestablished, he turned once more to the cold glow of his screen. Eventually, she'd dance with Tamaki – seemed less likely that anything productive would be achieved if she was forced into the tutelage of the twins. The only thing left to do was wait until this scene reached its unavoidable conclusion.

It was impossible to determine if the cold rush racing through him was simply surprise, or something more akin to panic. The room was airless as his mind replayed Tamaki's surprisingly timid suggestion: Mother could do it.

He'd nearly missed Tamaki's idiotic rationale behind the call, his mind reeling at the thought of sharing such an intimate dance with _her._ It was dangerous, being that close to her. The one time he'd allowed himself before, well, his mind was only too eager to tease him with the image of her beneath him, her eyes made into warm chocolate pools by the moon.

Reflexively, he pushed his lenses back up his nose and schooled his face.

Her voice seemed so hesitant in the silence, "Kyoya-senpai? …Would you mind?"

He wanted to laugh at himself. Anyone with ears heard the quaver in her voice, and it certainly didn't take much thought to realize it's source. He was the 'Shadow King', after all - intimidating and damn near omnipotent. The little stab he'd felt, the lance of guilt and hurt, was ridiculous. Trusting his voice would be most unwise, so he turned to yet another old standby, he raised his brow. She'd read into that what she wished.

When she didn't blush, when she didn't turn away, or turn to Tamaki, he felt a strange disconnect. His knees felt like water, and he could feel his pulse at the tip of every finger. It took a great deal of concentration to rise without stumbling. In a near desperate bid to collect himself, he once more adjusted his glasses, hoping to God that no one else in the room could hear the strange staccato his heart had decided passed for a pulse.

So much for being the cool one.

To his eternal relief, no one seemed to notice anything amiss. Tamaki assumed control of the situation, offering instruction and positioning Haruhi's hands on his chest. "Excellent. Now Haruhi, when dancing the tango, as in any dance, one must communicate through the body. The waltz is romantic. The tango is all about unfulfilled desire." Unfulfilled desire – what a horrible choice of words.

As he brought his hands to her, he remembered in vivid detail all of the times he'd avoided touching her: the day at the expo, the night at the beach house, he'd even nearly made an idiot of himself dancing out of her path before a collision in the hall. Now his fingers lay on her shoulders, his palms just above her… her heart.

"The tango is a complicated dance, Haruhi," Tamaki again, still blissfully ignorant, "and we don't expect you to master it in the short time we have until the ball. But Daddy is sure that his little girl can learn the basics. Eye contact is important." When her eyes met his they seemed very determined, or angry. He wondered briefly at the conviction he saw in them. "A proper host cannot cast his eyes around the ballroom while dancing with a beautiful princess. For this first lesson, I think it's enough if you simply practice walking with Mother. Eyes on, and start with the right foot!"

When her leg shot back, he quelled the smile twitching on his lips. Trust Haruhi to attempt to take the lead in a dance she was learning. He stepped smoothly behind her, talking his next step a hair fast to take back the lead.

Her eyes never strayed from his; large, warm, and focused, he felt like she could see every last thought in his head. It was a disconcerting feeling, but not an onerous one.

Step by step, she gradually loosened and it felt… it felt damn close to submission. Tongues of desire danced in his belly at the realization. It was impossible to ignore the intimacy, and the awareness of other. When her hand twitched nervously about his heart, he could have sworn that he felt the resonance of desire in her. He couldn't help but smirk.

He was wickedly delighted when she flushed and her eyes snapped with irritation. It would be tempting, he mused, to walk her all the way into the wall. He'd see the flames dance higher in her eyes, or maybe, just maybe, he'd see a flicker of his own desire there. But alas, there was an audience.

He turned her gently, keeping their pace slow and sedate as they returned. Perhaps she saw more than the Shadow King – maybe she just wanted to, either way, the next few days were going to prove very interesting.

He didn't allow himself to grieve the loss of contract when the dance ended. He'd have tomorrow. He bowed rather deeply to hide his grin at the prospect.

She was flustered, he could tell. She was trying to bury it in her textbook – but just like the clothes that couldn't quite conceal her gender, it only accented the truth. After all, her eyes weren't moving.

* * *

He took the liberty the next day to excuse himself from class an hour early. The teacher did nothing but nod in acceptance. He was an Ootori, powerful, wealthy and well connected, he was the top in his class, and the vice-president of the school's most well known club. There was no way and nothing to object to.

His steps damn near bounced with anticipation, thought his pace was steady and deliberate. He had to prep for Haruhi's lesson. Today, there would be minimum interference from the peanut gallery of his friends. Today, he'd have to her to himself.

On a whim he passed by the open door of her classroom. She was scowling slightly at her text, but her hand, ah her hand. Her hand was absently caressing her chest. The exact spot, if memory served, that his hand had rested the day before.

It made him want to whistle his way to music room 3.

Months before, the club had used rice paper room dividers for a traditional tea. Thanks to his own insistence on keeping their supply closet well organized, it took no time at all to locate them and drag them out. He cast a critical eye over the furniture littered about the room. A love seat would be most ideal as it would force them, when sitting, into close quarters, but it seemed rather obvious. The pair of delicate Queen Ann chairs would be the most space efficient, but rather contrary to his goal. It left only the couch as an option. It didn't take much to set the stage.

By the time the last divider was slid into place, Tamaki entered the room, "Kyoya, why are those up?"

"We have only a week until the ball, Tamaki. Haruhi must be brought up to speed quickly. I cannot afford to close the club for her lessons, but it would be unseemly for our guests to see her learn."

Logical, sound, and correct, his explanation left Tamaki nodding in agreement.

At that moment, he had a pang. Surely 'Daddy Dearest' would have something to say if he were privy to 'Mommy's' thoughts. And surely Tamaki, although seemingly clueless, would have something to say about another man setting his cap for the girl who'd shook all of them up. It was more than obvious that Kyoya wasn't the only one with an attraction to Haruhi.

He dismissed it. He was putting the cart way before the horse. He'd certainly thought he'd seen attraction in her the day before, but- but he was the Shadow King, the demon lord – the keeper of the debt – it was best to not get carried away.

She entered the room quietly, her large brown eyes strangely solemn . "Good Afternoon, Senpai." Her voice was even, too even. It was easy to see, suddenly that she was far less composed than she seemed.

"Good afternoon, Haruhi. Shall we continue the lesson?"

He watched her as she stepped to him, her movements overly smooth. Sharp eyes caught the faintest of tremors in her wrists as her hands came back to his chest. He couldn't smother the grin. "Yesterday's lessons were supposed to be for your feet. While I appreciate your" A hundred unsuitable words sprang to mind, "… enthusiasm, I must insist that we take this a step further." Her blush burned from her cheeks all the way to her ears, but he had better things to do than stare. He couldn't help but savor sliding his arm round her waste. His hand spread nearly the entire breadth of her back, driving home exactly how much smaller than he she was. It sharpened his anticipation, this feeling of power his larger frame had compared to hers. Delicately, and oh so slowly, he drew her nearly flush with himself. He allowed himself to trace his fingers down her slight arm to her wrist. "Your hand," he croaked, nearly choking on the tension inside him, "rests on my shoulder." At the flicker he thought he saw in her eyes, we smoothed her fingers flat, relishing the warmth that came seeping through his shirt.

It was too much to resist, the idea of allowing his fingers to learn the subtle curves of her body on their path to her hip. It wasn't wise – he knew that, but it was inevitable. It rested so perfectly there, as though his hand had been custom tailored for her.

"Your left hand should be in the middle of my back." He heard his own desire in his voice, a huskiness that it had never held before.

Timidly, her hand came to its resting place, and the heat from that touched radiated across his back. They were damn near tangled in each other and the proximity was wreaking havoc with his control.

Her eyes flickered again, and a spark lit there that captivated him. When she spoke it was nearly his undoing, "What do we do now, Senpai?" There was a daring in her tone, a hint of a challenge that his body responded to automatically, his hand trying to clutch her closer.

"We use our hands to communicate." He tried to take a breath and regain some composure, but it didn't help. "For a turn, I will press here," it felt sinful, holding her like this. "Do you understand?" There was color on her cheeks once more as she nodded.

As he slid her into the walk, his pulse leapt. She was completely compliant, her movements echoing his own gracefully. The world was suddenly cloyingly small, filled only with her and the roar of his blood. He felt the sway of her hip in his hand, she telegraphed every step to his hand on her back. As the lesson wore on, he became less sure of their boundaries, relishing the oneness in their movements.

It was easy to forget she was just learning, and he could have kicked himself for sweeping her into a sharp turn, but she followed gracefully. He was left in wonder.

It was Honey broke the illusion, "Wow, Haru-chan, you really are a natural!"

They fell apart, and this time it was difficult to quell the disappointment. Desire burned through him, violent at the loss of contact. It was only reflex that kept his face from showing his torment.

"Th-thank you, Honey-senpai." The stutter brought back the strange staccato from the day before. She'd felt it – she _had_ to have. "Kyoya-senpai is a good teacher."

His eyes were glued to hers as he bowed. His jacket was like a suit of armor, a protection for his too sensitive skin. All it took was a small adjustment to his glasses, and he felt more in control. "Did everything go well?"

Tamaki's chuckle grated, "Mother, you fret too much; every princess was well tended."

There was nothing to say, or at least, nothing that wouldn't be too telling. "Hm. Then it is time to go. Good night." It wasn't precisely retreat, but it was close enough.

* * *

There was no sleep that night. Kyoya found himself tossing and turning the night through, plagued by skin that was far too hot. All he got when he closed his eyes was a slow motion replay of the day's lesson. He watched and rewatched every small moment, from the tantalizing way Haruhi's tongue had darted across her lips, to the mercurial changes in her eyes. His hand blazed with the memory of her hip. With a frustrated groan, he threw himself out of bed.

He'd been right all along, his first impression had been sound. It was entirely too dangerous to be so close to her. If he had half a brain left in his head, he'd make whatever excuses he could to get out of being her tutor.

But the thought of her dancing with any of the other hosts was enough to make his blood boil and his fists clench. His traitorous mind was only too willing to show her entwined with the twins, or her sweet response, the one he wanted only for himself, being shared with Tamaki.

He was too far in to back out now.

And just what did he think was going to come from this. Did he expect flustered confessions from her? Did he think, for one minute, that she would look at him and see anything other than the supposed 'dark lord' of the host club? If he did. He was an idiot.

What did all that preparation amount to now, eh , Ootori? So careful to keep up walls, so keen to keep any threat of connection away outside of what was useful. So clever, weren't you? You recognized Haruhi right away for what she was – a danger to your composure, a chink in your armor, but you couldn't resist. You did everything you could to keep her close, didn't you – saddle her with a crushing debt. But you couldn't let her get _too close_, could you? Threaten her with more debt, try to terrify her at the beach house, anything to keep some breathing space. Clever little boy thought he could have it all, but what were you doing but dancing on a razor's edge, unable to let her go, but unwilling to let her in.

You tripped, asshole.

He ran his hands through his tousled dark locks. It was useless. All of it. His heart lurched with he remembered the flashes of passion in her eyes. God, even if they were real, they wouldn't amount to much. Every one flirted with the darkness, no one wanted to stay in it.

But more than likely, what he saw in her eyes was just reflections of his own damn pride and vanity. He was Kyoya Ootori: first person you went to when something needed to be taken care of… but last person you ever considered needing something himself.

He didn't go to class that day. Instead, he took the time to set up the host club for the evenings cosplay - and to torture himself. Every memory that made him burn, every flash of feeling he'd thought he'd seen from her, he prescribed away to something else. Pity, disinterest, shame, and most painfully, fear. It clenched at his heart, but it was needed.

The day slid by in a haze of work and sweat. The turmoil of the night before still roiled in his belly, he knew it was for the best if he stayed away from the lesson. Eventually he'd find a way to piece himself back together and be fit to go out in public, but not today. Today was too volatile.

The clock struck. An hour before lesson time. He lurched to his feet. It was dumb, it was stupid, and perhaps, worst of all, foolish, but he knew he couldn't leave. He slipped quietly into the partitioned area. He heard the nonstop chatter of the arriving hosts. It faded as they went to the changing rooms.

He heard her enter next- it had to be her. He felt paralyzed. There was no way to get her to look past the niche he'd created for himself. He himself had taken every _precaution_ to be sure it was seamless and secure. And what girl in their right mind would want to be with the Kyoya Ootori he'd shown Haruhi?

"Kyoya-sempai?" There was a dose of concern to her voice. A hint of feeling that ignited a blaze he hadn't known he'd been building. The Shadow King rose.

After all, that's what he was. He was dangerous, cold, and calculating. He never did anything without profiting. He took what he wanted and damned the consequences.

Her eyes were impossibly wide as he prowled toward her. He latched on to her hips, dragging her closer. He let his hands wander as he shucked the coat from her dainty frame- never out of line, but also not appropriate. He circled her then, clasping her arms in his hands. Unfulfilled desire- he wanted to leave her weak with it. He brought her hard against him. "Tamaki said that the tango was unfulfilled desire." The whispers dripped from his lips, his grin fatalistic as he watched the hair on her neck rise.

Surrendering to impulse, he forced her legs apart, her weight fell against him, and he gloried in the feel. "He was right." When her left knee gave out he molded himself to her. "The body communicates the need in angles, in tension" He engulfed her in his arms, capturing her arms to her chest, "and in contact."

Ruthlessly he whirled her out by her wrist. Her feet fumbled under the onslaught. "Mind your feet, Haruhi."

He'd expected to see the fear in her eyes. He was even prepared for tears, but the one thing he'd not considered was acceptance. Her arms came around him, she squared herself to match him. The very whisper of challenge charged the air.

He set the pace fast, forcing her body to follow his. He wanted to feel her ease, that loose feeling in her back that meant surrender. He needed it. She matched his step for step, her feet flying to keep pace with his own. Once more, his world grew small, he only knew her and the roar of his own superheated blood.

And then a hand pressed softly on his chest. It was gentle, but insistent. He body, so used to reading the signals from hers, stepped back of its own accord. She followed closely, having wrested the lead from him with grace and efficiency.

Her eyes were unreadable.

He hit the wall and stopped before he even knew what hit him, but the instant his overheated back made contact with that wall, he saw it, it clicked. _Her eyes. _There was passion there, a smoldering heat that he recognized. But it was tempered with fear, and he couldn't bear to see it in her eyes.

His lips found hers. He needed her. When her lips parted he invaded eagerly and groaned when she returned the kiss. He pulled her to him fiercely; he'd die without her body pressed to his own. The feel of her fingers caressing his scalp sent shivers down his spine and warmth pooling in his middle. It was as though she weighed nothing when he scooped her up.

He stumbled for the couch. The overwhelming need surged through him and he sent their possessions scattering to the ground. He was consumed by her.

He froze the moment she stiffened. He'd gone too far. He'd misread her eyes. He'd misunderstood everything. With a cold and empty heart, he pulled away. She hadn't wanted this.

Large brown eyes met his and all he could see was regret. The self-castigation came easily. So prideful, Ootori. So sure of yourself you are that you assault a young woman in your hubris. A friend.

But the voice was rendered mute at the delicate touch of fingers on his scalp. Haruhi was adjusting his hair. An ebullient lightness blossomed in his chest. The host club was sure to investigate the cacophony he'd made, but she was wasting the precious few moments she had straightening him. When the other hosts made the scene, she handled them adroitly, pouring the blame on herself. No one even looked at him. In a sudden rush, he realized that this is what it was to be protected. She was sheltering him.

She cared.

Somehow, through it all, Tamaki's whine pierced his thoughts, "But how is Daddy supposed to kiss and make it better when his little girl won't tell him where she hurts?" There was a flash of something writhing, something red in his heart- jealousy, but in the crashing tide of his recent epiphany, it seemed ephemeral.

Hikaru looked uncomfortable. "Uh, boss, I think you took the 'daddy' thing too far."

"Yeah, that was weird, even for you," Kaoru.

Even Tamaki seemed to realize he'd gone too far, "Well, if you're sure you're fine, we were going to leave…"

"I'm fine, Senpai, I'm just embarrassed." He heard the relief in her voice and it made him want to smile.

"Well alright then, if you insist. Have a good night."

The boys left, but Kyoya was far away. She'd worried about him. She'd worried about what they would think about him. Gratitude was a word that didn't even encompass the range of turbulent emotions bottled inside.

His gaze fell on her hand, her delicate, graceful hand. He succumbed. He pressed his lips to the flesh so tender it couldn't cover the racing of her pulse. He wanted to smile when he heard the lovable confusion in her voice, the nerves, "Uh, Kyoya-senpai?"

The honorific had to go. After all this, after the gift she'd given him, it seemed so silly, "Kyoya" he wanted to hear his name as it should be. He wanted her to say it right.

When their eyes met, he saw hers dilate. She was intoxicating, "Kyoya, I, uh"

Her inability to string two words together was delightful and endearing. "Yes, Haruhi?"

"Wh-what are you doing?" The stutter skipped with the rhythm of her heart. This was not a woman terrified of a Shadow Lord. This was a woman struggling against passion, a passion he had awoken. It was a powerful, uplifting feeling. Nothing in the world could touch him now, "I'd think that was obvious, Haruhi."

Her neck called to him, a long column of untasted flesh. He acquainted himself with it. He chuckled at her helpless, "Huh?"

For once, it was a prideful thing, "My job, Haruhi. Don't you remember? 'After all, to whom does a little girl turn when she is in need and Daddy can't help?'"

She was his.

* * *

Oh my god, I had a lot of fun cleaning this one up for you guys. Thank you so much for the review, they meant a great deal to me!

P.S. I really need to learn how to post and not drink. One teeny glass of wine and I'm spelling names wrong... Embarrassing.


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